


Her Crazy Idea of Fun

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam heads off to look for John, while Dean takes Jayme on her first hunt. Takes place during the events of the first season episode "Scarecrow."</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/22/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The tiny cabin nestled deep in the woods was cozy and warm, but a bit too confining for Dean’s tastes. After two days he was getting restless and wanting to get back on the road, but the question of what to do about their recent orphan was still not completely settled. Neither he nor Sam were eager to interrupt Jayme’s mourning, which seemed to verge from tears to laughter and back to tears. In other words, normal. Leaving her alone had been out of the question; she was clearly thankful for their company and in some small way they felt it was a favor to Delphinar to be there for her daughter.

On the morning of the third day they found her outside, sitting on the edge of the battered picnic table, two packed bags sitting behind her.

“Jayme?” Dean asked as they walked over to her. He nodded at the bags.

“My stuff,” she said. “Cabin belongs to Katarin. I’m ready to move on.”

“We’ll give you a lift somewhere,” Dean said.

“Actually I was wondering if I might hitch along with you two for a while. We work pretty good together already. I can help.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. They’d talked about it a little, but hadn’t come to a firm decision. “Uh, well, you see—” Dean began.

“Uh oh, that’s never a good sign,” she said. “Look, I can help you. Swear to God!”

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . well, this is a family business. And we’ve been at it a while.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jayme pulled out her iPod and stuck the buds in her ears. “Don’t worry, I won’t listen.” She crossed her legs and turned away from them.

“Dean, I think we should take her along. Just for a little while.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Are you? Didn’t you see what she can do?”

“Yeah, I did! You really think having someone like that around is smart?”

“She’s on our side, Dean. She won’t hurt us.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I made a promise to my mother,” Jayme said.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t listen!” Dean snapped.

“I lied.” She spun back around. “Besides, you need me.”

“Oh, we do?” Dean asked, crossing his arms and getting a very stubborn look on his face.

She matched his expression. “Damn right you do. You run into any more Dominators you’ll need me to keep your heads on your bodies. And neromancers aren’t the only things I can fight.”

“Listen, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you can’t exactly bust out that animal form of yours in broad daylight around a bunch of people.”

“I don’t need it to fight.”

“Oh really?”

She slid down from the table. “Which one of you weighs more?”

Dean shared a blank look with his brother. “I don’t know. Probably Sam, he’s taller.”

Jayme went over to Sam. “Boxers or briefs?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Nevermind. Sorry if I get you.” She took hold of his belt and fisted the back of his jacket; before he had time to ask she’d hoisted him up and onto her shoulders like a powerlifter. She turned slowly enough not to disorient her passenger. “Enough to convince you?” she asked.

Dean just shook his head. “Yeah, that’s fine. Now put him down.”

“Sure.” She lowered her shoulder, setting Sam back on his feet. “Sorry about the abrupt demonstration.”

“All right, so you’re strong. What else can you do?”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Ever fire a gun?”

“What kind?”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean, what kind?”

“Energy weapon, handgun, shotgun, rifle, what?”

Dean got another dose of the feeling that he was in way over his head. “Energy what?”

“Oh, that’s right. Your technology’s not there yet. I haven’t had much experience with guns. I’m not the world’s greatest shot but I guess I can learn.”

“What about knives? Can you throw?”

“Give me a target.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, glancing around. “Knot in that tree behind me.” He saw her hand come up, brushing against her jeans, then her arm flung out, sending something whistling past his head. He spun, trying to hide his surprise at seeing a small knife quivering in the center of the knot he’d indicated. “That’s . . . not bad.”

“Why do you want to come with us?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, flinging her arms out, then letting them drop to her sides. “Ahma really loved being cryptic, and she laid this whole ‘go with them and help them’ thing on me and right now I really don’t even know what I’m doing.” She looked up, her face torn between laughter and tears. “But she was sure about something with you two, and right now that’s all I have.”

Dean sighed and stared up at the sky as if it held the answers.

“So take me with you, maybe I can help you out. Or don’t. I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking very small and un-fierce.

“Jayme, you need to understand what it is we do,” Dean said, his voice losing its usual flippancy, deepening as it did when he got serious. “We track down evil creatures, monsters, things out of nightmares. And we kill them. It’s bloody, it’s violent, and it’s dangerous.”

“And your point?”

Dean looked at her, his head lowering slightly as he studied her. She didn’t flinch or look away, meeting his gaze and waiting for his verdict. It was a look he’d seen plenty of times before—from his father, from Bobby, from Sam. Seeing it from an unassuming girl was something altogether different. He had to remind himself of the giant animal that lurked inside that seemed to give her gaze an extra depth and weight.

“You ride in the back, you keep quiet, and if you annoy me I’m putting you out on the side of the road.”

“You got it, Chief.”

She gathered her things and they waited; one image in particular stuck with Dean for a long time after—Jayme standing near the spot where her mother had died, looking down at the patch of grass that bore no trace of what had happened thanks to the thoroughness of her people. In a way it wasn’t fair; it gave her no marker, no monument, nothing to hold onto except herself. For all the evidence that remained, it had never happened. She gestured at the ground, a sort of half-wave, half raised fist, and turned away. He knew the movement well.

She was moving on.

 

 

_It’s interesting seeing the world from the back seat of a car._

_Ahma died a week ago this Thursday, not that I’m keeping count. Now I find myself riding around in a very well-maintained ’67 Impala with two humans. Brothers._

_From the first time I ever said I wanted to come to Earth, Adha said that humans weren’t worth my time, that they were savage and barbaric and crude and without any of our better qualities. It always confused me because if that were true, then why were any of us on Earth, especially Ahma?_

_When she would come home I got the real story. That humans are a little like Adha said—less advanced, a little too quick sometimes to give into their base natures, but they’re young and still learning their place in the galaxy. But they also live much shorter lives and manage to pack passion and life into every moment, and their imaginations far exceed ours in almost every way; Katarin doesn’t have the range of art and music and creative works that Earth does. Not even close._

_She knew how utterly enthralled I’d become. I’m sure of that, and she wasn’t wrong—she rarely was. I think that’s why I’m here; no, I know that’s why I’m here, because this isn’t where I’d have ended up on my own devices. And if she’d even given me the pretext of a choice, I don’t know that I’d have gone her way._

_It’s not that these two aren’t nice. One of them is what I can generously call a cocky son of a bitch, and the other isn’t. And they drive around, hunting monsters. I haven’t seen any myself yet, so I think I can be forgiven for my skepticism, but they seem to believe it as firmly as anything, so I’ll go along._

_But I’m still a stranger, and I get the feeling I’m interfering. They both deny it and it’s not like they’re standing with their backs to me or anything, but there is a comfortable familiarity and chemistry that I’m just not a part of. I know I need to be patient but in the meantime it’s not a very comfortable place to be._

_I haven’t thought yet about what I’m going to actually report on with these guys. Will anyone believe me if I talk about ghosts and spirits?_

_If they’re just delusional and eccentric, I suppose that will be interesting too._

_I don’t know that I see what Ahma did, but I don’t not-see it either. Probably the only reason I’m sitting right now in the back seat of a thirty-something year old car with two guys who look like hoods, heading to God only knows where._


	2. Chapter 2

It was deep in the night when they finally stopped at the Tennessee/Kentucky border, checking into a small motel with a fish motif, clearly geared towards passing sportsmen.

“Imagine this is a step down for you,” Dean said, following her and Sam in and tossing his bag on the bed nearest the door. “You know, living the high life with all those rock stars.”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t pay much attention to the . . . outward trappings.” She traced the outline of the trout on the bedspread. “Not even with stuff like this. Long as it’s sort of clean, I’m content.”

“Good to know you’re not one of those girly-girls,” Dean said. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but they don’t exactly fit into our lifestyle.”

“I am as far from a girly-girl as you are ever going to find. So what do you guys do on the road when you’re not . . . doing whatever it is you do.”

“We sleep, do research, watch TV, try not to get on each other’s nerves.”

“And usually fail miserably,” Sam added.

“So in other words like being on the road with a band,” she said. “You guys don’t blow up toilets or throw TVs into swimming pools, do you?”

Sam snorted. “Not that I can recall.”

“Man, you must have been part of some wild parties,” Dean said. “Wish I coulda been there.”

“Yeah, you look like you could have fit in,” she said, grinning. “Now, whether you’d be throwing the TV set or hanging from a pipe in your underwear with a bottle of whiskey, I can’t tell yet.”

“Who did that?” Dean asked.

“Keith and John, respectively,” she said.

Dean laughed. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Keith was the one with the permanent case of Outgoing. But John had his moments, usually when there were no cameras around.”

“They sound just as wild as the stories make it out to be,” Sam said, sprawling back on the bed. “How did you get into all that, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure. It kinda snowballed. My original assignment was to come here and find out what the whole ‘teenage’ thing was back in the fifties. Television, rock and roll, the Baby Boom, all that was starting to really get rolling and they didn’t have anyone here who was young enough to blend in.”

“Wait a minute, you were here then? You can’t be more than—”

“A hundred sixty-seven. Believe me, honey—I've lived long enough.”

Dean crossed his arms and glared and Sam braced himself for sarcasm or a snarling insult, not knowing how Jayme would react. Instead Dean just shrugged. “Okay, so I forgot how old you are.” Sam blinked. Since when did Dean not snap back at a condescending remark? 

“Anyway, so Ahma got me assigned here.”

“Your mom got you your job?” Dean said.

“Don’t sound so surprised. She knew I wasn’t happy on Katarin, and being my mother, she knew me well enough to convince her boss to bring me on board. Six months later I was in an Earth high school with _no_ idea what I was doing.”

“That is every human kid in high school,” Sam said. “Trust me.”

“No doubt. So I lived quiet, put the academics to use and figured out who you humans really are, got to like you, for the most part, and though my official area of research was popular culture, by the late fifties the music had hooked me. I got here just in time to mingle, get to know people who knew people who knew people, and when things got really rolling I was already one of the ‘in’ people. Rest is history.”

“And none of them ever found out about you?” Sam asked.

“Aside from the Who, no. They’re the only ones I told. I would imagine some people through the years have suspected something, but I’ve stayed pretty well under the radar.”

Sam laughed. “By hanging out with some of the most famous people of all time.”

“Hey, they got all the attention. I just hung around and soaked up the vibes. Jhamera, Ace Reporter, Katarin Times.”

“So that’s what you are? A reporter?” Dean said, looking like he was unsure whether he was supposed to be disappointed or not.

“Do I look like Lois Lane to you? Didn’t Ahma tell you anything about what we do here?”

Sam sat up. “She made it sound like an anthropological study, observing creatures in their native habitat, that kind of thing.”

Dean stiffened. “What, like being studied?”

“No, no,” she said, holding up her hands. “Time out. It’s not like that. Look, it’s hard to explain and I am probably not the best person to do it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sometimes the best way to learn is to do. We want to know more about you, so the best way is to live with you, work with you, see the world through your eyes. Taking humans off this planet would be pointless and cruel and against our laws, and you are not ready to be greeted openly.”

“Who says?” Dean snapped.

She turned, tilting her head to the side. “You still hate each other because of skin color. Totally not ready to deal with another species.”

“She has a point, Dean,” Sam said, grinning. He was enjoying watching Dean’s discomfort at being poked from two sides instead of one. Jayme’s expressions were puzzling, moving from aggressive and passionate to fearful and back again with startling rapidity, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to stand up to them or back down and had determined to do both.

It was in Sam’s nature to watch. Dean was the talker, the risk-taker, the one most likely to charge in with guns blazing. Sam preferred to hang back, think things over, plan, make sure he knew what he was dealing with before he moved.

“Okay, yeah, not a good idea to just walk up to the White House and say hello,” Dean admitted. “Still, I’m not that comfortable with the idea that the next person I pass on the street—”

“Might be someone like me, who means you no harm, and would probably be more likely to help you up if you fell than one of your own kind,” Jayme finished, her words sharp as needles.

“Or might be one of your little Dominator buddies looking to take my head off.”

“Okay, fair enough. So it all comes back to you needing me. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d keep your heads on your bodies. I will not let any of my people hurt you. Full stop.”

Dean crossed his arms. “So what kind of training do you have? You’re stronger than you look and you can throw. What else?”

“Fighting lessons from school, two years mandatory military service, thirty years of gymnastics and just generally running around and keeping in shape. Could take you down without mussing my hair.”

“Oh really?” Dean said.

Sam just grinned, lacing his hands behind his head. All the digs about being beaten up by girls and all the feminine insults he’d gotten from Dean (and given) flew through his head.

She stood up and walked over to Dean. “Try to hit me.”

Dean took a step back. “What?”

“You don’t have to break my eye socket, just move your arm and try to hit me.”

Dean sighed, uncrossed his arms, and swung; Jayme turned, her hand snapping up and pinching his arm. 

“What the hell was that?” he said. 

“That was a pinch. If this were real, I’d have just sliced your superior ulnar collateral artery and you’d be bleeding profusely.”

“Super—you made that up!” Dean said.

“Did not,” she said. “I’ve studied human anatomy. To,” she said, holding up a hand to ward off any impending outrage, “make sure I understood how your bodies work. Wouldn’t do to come here try to live amongst humans without knowing how to put on a Band-Aid, would it?”

“You certainly don’t talk like an alien,” Sam said.

“My impeccable blending abilities,” Jayme said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and smirking.

“Blending my ass,” Dean grumbled.

They got ready for bed, the brothers looking nervously at the girl in the room with them. It hadn’t occurred to them what it would mean, having a female sharing their space. She watched them hem and haw and bump into each other with the awkwardness of teenagers, trying to hide her amusement. “Boys, listen. I have been riding, flying, and partying with rock stars long before you were born. There is literally nothing either of you could do that would shock me in any way. Trust me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Dean. Shark incident. Zeppelin. I was there. Shock me you cannot.”

The absolution given, they fell into their normal pattern, both trying to ignore the attractive redhead sitting on the bed and staring at them. 

They settled in, Jayme curling up under the covers until her head was barely visible. Dean settled in next to Sam, his back to the door. He checked the gun under the pillow, settling down only when he was sure it was there.

Sam’s eyes cracked open and looked over at Dean.

“Been a while since we did this, huh?” he whispered.

Sam nodded.

“Do you trust her?”

He thought for a moment, eyes rolled up slightly. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good. Wasn’t going to go to sleep if you said no.”

Sam smiled. “Go to sleep, D.”

They settled in, the night deepening around them. What felt like five minutes later Dean snapped awake, aware after a moment of a sound. He looked at Sam, who was on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. The brat was snoring. It wasn’t him.

He sat up, looking over at the other bed. He could make out the figure in the light coming in the front window from the streetlight outside. She was curled on her other side, her shoulders twitching and trembling in her sleep.

He got up, moving carefully so he wouldn’t disturb Sam, and went around to the other bed. As he got closer he could see movement; her hands were moving in her sleep, pawing the covers as she mumbled and murmured, the sounds growing more and more agitated.

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” he muttered to himself. _This is not some scared kid or damsel in distress—this is a creature that can rip me and Sam to pieces as easily as—_

He stopped himself. It was true, but all the same it wasn’t fair to her; she hadn’t tried to hurt them once. She’d given up a lot for their protection.

Sam talked in his sleep sometimes, mumbling nonsense that he didn’t remember the next day. Apparently Jayme did too, but not in a language Dean recognized. He tried to piece together some syllables but it was all a jumble, an important jumble from the sound of it, her fingers twisting into a claw shape, her wrist snapping, her lips drawing back from her teeth. “ _Adha nha . . . hovhenn nha_!” 

His hands reached out just as she sat up, his palm smacking her nose, her hand connecting with his forearm and pushing his hand even harder against her face before she was able to turn, her hair a tangled mess in the dark. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispered.

“Sorry,” he whispered back. “Heard you having a bad dream, thought I could—”

“What, poke me in the eye to break the spell?” she said, shoving his hand away. “I didn’t get you, did I?”

Dean squinted in the dark. If she’d clawed him, he sure couldn’t tell. “Don’t think so. You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so. What, was I about to eat your brother?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. “No, but you were gettin’ pretty upset.”

“I was?” She brushed her hair back, her eyes blearily searching for his face. “Did I say anything?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t make it out. Something that sounded like ‘ah da’ or something.”

She let her hands drop to the bedspread, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves as she lowered her head. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Jayme.”

“It’s nothing I want to get into at whatever-o-clock it is.”

“Okay, okay.” He knew when to back off, and poking this one was not smart. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” She ran the pads of her fingers down his forearm. It was a measured response, a familiar gesture. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” he said, heading back to bed. Sam muttered and curled a little tighter onto his stomach, burying his face a little more into his pillow. He settled back in, waiting for sleep to carry him off, but it was slow coming. What could have been five minutes or an hour later, he opened his eyes, looking over his brother’s back to the other bed. Jayme was still sitting up, her elbows resting on her knees, the heels of her palms pressed against her eyes. She was rocking back and forth slightly.

 _Whatever that nightmare was, it must have messed her up pretty bad_ , he thought, lying back down and turning over, checking once more for the gun under his pillow.

It wasn’t his problem.

What was his problem was clear the next morning.

When Dad called.

And Jayme answered.


	3. Chapter 3

He heard the phone ringing, but his pillow was soft and he’d found just the right spot on the bed for maximum comfort. Let the voicemail get it. Couldn’t be that important.

Then he heard Jayme’s voice. “Hello? I should ask you the same question—you called this number. No, he’s right here. Just a second.”

Before he had a chance to open his eyes, he heard Sam’s voice. “Dad?” That got them open. “No, it’s okay. She’s a friend. No, not like that. Yeah, I’m fine; where are you? Are you okay?”

Dean sat up, listening to the one-sided conversation. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but as soon as Sam mentioned a demon, he knew exactly. He was arguing with Dad, never a good idea. Time to stop this. “Sam, gimme the phone.”

From the barely-audible sound of Dad’s voice and Sam’s expression, he wasn’t thrilled with Sam’s refusal to obey and Sam was just as unenthused with being told to follow orders. He leaned over, grabbing the phone before a full-scale fight could erupt. “Dad, it’s me. Where are you?”

“Dean, who was that who answered?”

Dean swallowed, looking at Jayme, who was watching his every move. “That was Jayme. She’s a friend.”

“Oh, I get it. Well, get rid of her and take down these names.”

Dean grabbed the pad of paper and pen on the table, deciding that now was not the time to argue. He’d find out soon enough. “Okay, what are they?”

 

 

It took most of the morning and the first part of the afternoon to check all the names and pull the information on them. Jayme stayed out of the way, asking few questions and fetching anything asked for without inquiry. If Sam was still smarting from being ordered to forget about going after Dad, he gave no outward sign, though he was a lot quieter than usual.

They pulled out later in the afternoon, Sam driving so that Dean could look over the information they’d gathered and try to make sense of it. After all, Dad had just given them names and a town—Burkitsville, Indiana.

“So Jayme,” Dean asked, flipping another page. “Besides neromancers, what’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever come up against?”

“Uh . . . Ozzy,” she replied.

Sam started laughing so hard he started coughing.

“As in Osbourne?” Dean asked.

“I was there the night he and Nikki Sixx got in a gross-out contest.”

“Who won?” they chorused.

She turned, leaning back and propping her heels up on the door. “I did.”

“You did?” Sam gasped, as Dean asked, “How?”

“Sorry, state secret,” she said. “Promised Ozzy he could save it for his book.”

But even after Sam started asking questions about the case they had been sent on, his hopes that he’d forgotten about Dad and that their guest would put them both on good behavior evaporated once Sam started in. He wanted to go to California to look for Dad, and Dean was just as determined to head to Indiana for the job they’d been sent to do. Couples from all over the country were disappearing in the same town, and all Sam could think of was chasing down the one person who had specifically told them not to.

Jayme sat in the back, clearly pretending not to listen. At the very least she didn’t try to butt in, for which Dean was grateful. One problem at a time.

He cringed as Sam brought up Jess and Mom; it was one thing to talk about those things between them, but dammit there was a stranger in the car! Couldn’t Sam just let it go? It wasn’t clear from Jayme’s expression what she was feeling—if anything—but it had to have been awkward to say the least.

When Sam stormed out of the car Dean felt a measure of relief. Outside the car he had a little more privacy and at least a chance of talking to Sam without Jayme overhearing. He was prepared for an argument. Maybe even a few punches. He wasn’t prepared for Sam to pull out his backpack and tell him point-black that he was going to California.

Without him.

“You’re not serious!”

“I am serious,” Sam said, giving him a level stare that showed how much he was also John Winchester’s son.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean said, ready to call Sam’s bluff. “Hey, I’m taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?” But Sam was already walking away.

He couldn’t be serious. _Come on, Sam. Just turn around and get back in the car. Please._

“That’s what I want you to do.”

Fine. If he was going to be a brat, Dean would be damned if he was going to be the one to go chasing after him. “Goodbye, Sam.” He closed the trunk and headed to the driver’s side, waiting for Sam to run back and jump into the passenger seat. He started the engine and pulled out, his eyes fixed on the mirror, waiting to see those long arms waving for him to stop.

But Sam was gone.

A few miles down the road he stopped, finally facing the silent figure in the back seat. “Come on up. No sense you sitting back there. This ain’t Driving Miss Daisy.”

“All right.” She got out, moving into the front seat. He put the car in gear and drove on. He expected her to start chatting, filling the silence, anything to take his mind off his brother who was getting further away with each minute. “Hey, come on. Say something already.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. It’s too damn quiet in here.”

“You’re not gonna put me out on the side of the road too, are you?”

Dean shot her a glare. “That’s not funny.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to say? That I feel totally awkward and in the middle right now? That I’m supposed to protect the two of you and that’s kinda hard with Sam however many miles back there on the side of the road?”

“Hey, that was his decision! I didn’t force him to come, and I can’t force him to stay!”

“Okay, so fine then! You don’t have to bite my head off about it.” She looked out the window. “Are all you Winchesters this hard-headed?”

For a moment Dean wanted to say something very nasty, but instead he shook his head. “Most of the time, yeah. Comes with the territory.”

“No kidding.”

“Listen, you’re not gonna write about all this for your report, or whatever it is you do?”

“What am I gonna say? That you two are like normal siblings across the galaxy—you had a fight and have gone your separate ways for now? I’d put them to sleep.”

“So what are you gonna tell them?”

“I’m going to tell them whatever happens on this case or job or whatever it is we’re heading to. What it is you do and why. Whether they believe me is entirely up to them.”

He stared at the road for a moment, trying not to think about how efficiently it was taking him away from Sam. “And if they don’t?”

“Then it’s their loss. I’m supposed to tell them what it is humans like you do in the world, and how they interpret it is their problem.”

“Okay. Just didn’t want them to think you were nuts and decide to pull you off somewhere else if they don’t believe you.”

“I suppose technically they could, but my qualifications are kind of limited—there’s really not much else they could assign me to, and if I want to stay here, provided I’m not a danger to humans or other neromancers, I can. And I like it here.”

“Good. Wanted to give you at least a shot at seeing something before they decided to reassign you to Des Moines or somewhere.”

“They wouldn’t do that. They send the nutters to Peoria.”

“Hey, now, I happen to like Peoria,” he said, his smirk matched by one of her own. He felt a little of the tension loosen; he knew things wouldn’t be right until Sam came back (he wouldn’t allow himself to even consider thinking the word “if”), but in the meantime it was nice to have someone along for the ride. The fact that she was easy to talk to and easy on the eyes didn’t hurt.

“So what happens when we get there?”

“Well, first thing we do is ask around, find out if anyone’s seen anything, get as many details as we can to see if this is one of our kinds of jobs or not.”

“So this may turn out to be something not supernatural.”

“Yeah. Happens sometimes—someone’s playing a prank, or we find out that there aren’t any unexplained phenomena involved. But we can’t tell until we get there and actually start investigating.”

“Sounds a lot like fishing; trawling around for a bite.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“How many times do you get a bite?”

He took in a breath, trying to wrap his brain around the question. “More often than I’d like, to be honest.”

“Let me ask you something. If I were human . . . would you have brought me along with you?”

His answer was immediate. “No way.”

“I see.”

He held up a hand. “Now wait a minute. It’s not what you think. Has nothing to do with you being a girl.”

“It doesn’t.”

“No. I don’t give a damn who you are. But I’d never bring a completely inexperienced person on a hunt. Ever.”

“But I’ve never been on a hunt.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Maybe not one of ours, but you’re not a stranger to hunting or fighting. You can handle a blade and a knife, and let’s face it, that beast form of yours will scare the shit out of almost anyone. So you already have skills. That’s why you’re even sitting in this car.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she said, ducking her head a little in an obvious attempt to keep him from seeing the pink kissing her cheeks. “I can see why Ahma liked you two. There’s a very noble streak there.”

“She doesn’t know us, then.”

Jayme raised one eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Doesn’t she? Two humans roaming around fighting monsters to save people, and unless I missed something I don’t think you ever mentioned being paid for it?”

“No, we don’t. Frankly half the time we don’t even get a thank you.”

“So, you’re either noble or you’re stupid. Or people are just ingrates. But still. You put yourselves in danger to do something you don’t have to do for no money and hardly any thanks because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know, it’s been a long time since Ahma made me read Mallory but I did go see that new King Arthur film so I do know nobility when I see it.”

“Look, Sam and I aren’t knights in shining armor, okay?”

“Did I say you were? I don’t have this romantic notion of you if that’s what you’re worried about. You can be good people and still be screwed up.”

“You think we’re screwed up?”

“Yeah, I do. But that’s okay—I am too.”

“You? Come on—pretty girl, living it up with rock stars for forty years, partying with them? That’s a life a lotta people would kill for.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean everything’s perfect. I’m all alone now, I can’t go home because this is home. Always having Ahma here meant I always had a connection, and now that’s gone. So I guess I’m just clinging to the last thing we had in common.”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t like you, and you are pretty badass, but the kind of things we hunt . . . are nothing like anything you’ve ever faced. It’s a different kind of enemy, and not one you can always just punch to death. I just . . . don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I don’t want to get hurt. I’m not as fragile as you think I am. I can handle it. Honest.” She saw the doubful look on his face. “Okay, how about this. I promise that if whenever we come up against whatever, while we’re on the job I will follow whatever directions you give. If I mess up or get freaked out I will go away. Deal?”

“I guess I can live with that.” He glanced over at her as she pulled something out of her pocket. “What’s that?”

“Guessing we could use some music right now.” She held up a black cassette tape with a wire coming out of one end; popping it into the tape deck, she plugged the other end into her iPod. He groaned.

“Oh come on,” she said. “It’s not that bad. Easiest way to carry around every decent song ever made. Tell you what—name a song and I bet I have it.”

“Traveling Riverside Blues,” he said immediately.

“Zeppelin, Johnson, or Rundgren?” she asked without missing a beat.

He was silent for a moment. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that?”


	4. Chapter 4

Usually when Sam fell asleep he either leaned back or leaned against the window, staying asleep even though Dean could occasionally hear his head thump against the window when they hit a pothole.

Jayme wasn’t Sam. Instead of staying upright, she gradually migrated to a curled-up position, her head nearly touching his leg. He almost expected her to start purring. Her iPod played on, Dean’s initial worry about trying to reach over and change songs vanishing when it played one great song after another, from Zeppelin and the Who to some obscure stuff he’d never heard before. Several times he wanted to ask her, but she was sleeping so peacefully he figured it could wait.

It was well past midnight and hours before dawn when he found the lines of the road swimming before him. Time to pull over and get a couple hours’ rest before they reached Indiana. There were no motels around; he hadn’t seen a sign for one in nearly an hour. The closest thing was a rest stop, which would have to do.

“Are we there yet?” Jayme murmured as he steered the car into the small lot and around to the darkest corner.

“Not yet. I need some sleep too. We’re at a rest stop.”

She sat up a little, blinking. “Oh.”

“I know, not as glamourous as a motel room, but—”

“No, it’s fine. No different than sleeping on a tour bus or in a van.”

Dean chuckled to himself as he got out, making sure the door was locked and the keys were in his pocket before moving to the back seat. Jayme’s things were there, but so far she’d kept them neatly tucked away.

She pushed herself up on her hands, looking over the seat. “Why’d you move?”

“You ever try sleeping behind a steering wheel? Don’t feel like spending an hour working the kinks out of my knees.” He leaned back, moving his shoulders until they were comfortably nestled. Everything was nice and quiet, and he could almost forget that Sam wasn’t there, snoring in the front seat. He closed his eyes, waiting for everything to settle enough for him to drift off, when the creak of the door snapped him out of it.

“Jayme? What is it?” he said, sitting up a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, getting into the back seat. “But it’s cold, and I’m sure you don’t want to run the engine all night.”

“It’s cold?” he said. It wasn’t exactly high summer, but even in the wee hours of the morning it was just a little chilly. But Jayme clearly felt different from the way she had her hands tucked up against her chest.

“Yeah.” She closed the door. “I’m from a much warmer climate, so fall in the Midwest is really cold. I’ve adjusted a little, but it’s only been fifty years, you know?”

His eyes got round. “Not really, no. I’m not even thirty yet.”

She smiled, nodding her head in a knowing way. “True, but our ages are just about equivalent in terms of maturity and physical development.”

He frowned at her, puzzled. “So you’re—we’re—”

“If I were human, I’d be in my mid-twenties. At a hundred and sixty-something, the average neromancer is at the same stage as a human your age.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna live for hundreds of years.”

She leaned against him, curling her legs up against the seat. “I’m sure to an insect who lives for a few days, eighty or ninety years must seem an eternity.”

“I’m sure that’ll make sense when I’m more awake. Right now, I’m too tired to be that damn philosophical.”

“Then sleep. I’ll be right here, keeping warm and watching your back,” she said, her eyes drifting closed once more.

“Sure that’s all you’re gonna do?” he said, giving her a lazy grin.

Her eyes slid open and she looked up at him. “Honey, if you’re wanting something else I can happily oblige. I doubt there’s anything you’d ask for that I haven’t heard before. Or done.”

He started to grin, then stopped when he remembered who and what she was. “Uh, maybe some other time.” For a moment she tensed and he cursed himself for getting into a confined space with a dangerous creature who, he reminded himself, only looked like a pretty girl. 

“Suit yourself,” she said. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

After that sleep was a while coming, Dean not wanting to move just in case her lack of caring was just a put on. But she went back to sleep easily, her body relaxing against his as she drifted off. He waited until her breathing was deep and even before getting comfortable, moving his arm out from under her head until she was leaning against his side. The air carried a hint of winter chill, but despite the lack of a heater things were warm enough in the back seat to be comfortable.

His first realization came when he looked down and saw his hand stroking her fine hair. _Jesus, Dean, she’s not a damn housecat!_ But she didn’t seem to mind. Then he remembered the night before in the hotel room, and suddenly her claws didn’t seem so small and subtle. Forcing himself to stop stroking her hair, he closed his eyes. “Just don’t hurt me, Jayme,” he whispered.

The night evidently passed without incident, judging from the early morning sunlight that showed Jayme in more or the less the same position, still sleeping. He moved a lock of her hair aside and looked at her ear; she’d told them that her ‘normal’ ears had been surgically removed, her ear canals actually moved down to the sides of her head, where a fully human ear was created and attached. It wasn’t that he expected to see scars or Frankenstein-monster-esque stitches, but there was nothing. No sign that she was anything more than human.

“It’s very real, I assure you,” she said. “If you tug on it, it’ll hurt.”

“No thanks. Rather not be mauled to death.”

She sat up. “Is that what you think I am? Some kind of wild animal about to turn on you?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“Dean, I have to _want_ to change forms. It doesn’t just happen. I’m not the Hulk, you know.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “This is all still new to me.”

“It’s new to me too,” she said, opening the door. “So we get back on the road now, right?”

“Yeah. We should be about an hour from Burkittsville. When we get there, then we snoop around, see what we can find out.”

They headed out, Dean hoping that there was someplace to stop nearby where he could get something decent to eat. He wondered where Sam was, and if he’d managed to find somewhere to stay.

But thinking about Sam hurt too much.

 

 

“Remind me to skip the hot sauce next time I eat out with you.”

Curled up in the passenger seat, Jayme only smiled. “I warned you.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Burkittsville reminded him of lots of small towns he and Dad had gone through, each one similar enough for them to blend together, and all of them vaguely reminiscent of Andy Griffith.

He pulled up at the curb across the street from a line of businesses, pulling out his phone and bringing up Sam’s number. He stared at it for a minute, then thought better of it, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Listen, Jayme. This place looks kinda conservative so maybe you should—what are you doing?” His head finished its turn and he saw Jayme’s bare stomach, her head buried in her shirt as she pulled it off. Thankfully she had a tank top on underneath, pulling it back down.

She picked up the green fleece pullover next to her and slipped it on over her head, finger-combing her long hair into place. “Conservative I can do.”

“I was gonna say stay in the car.”

“Which will accomplish what, exactly?”

“Listen, I’m just gonna look around, talk to some of the locals, see what I can find out.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “And I can’t come with you? I am able to keep my mouth shut, you know. Besides, how else am I going to learn?” Before he could object she opened the door and got out.

“I traded Sam for this,” he muttered to himself.

“I heard that,” Jayme said.

“You did not!”

“You didn’t trade me for anything, Big Boy. I don’t need you and you don’t need me, but while I’m here I might as well do something to earn my keep, right?”

Dean wanted to be mad, but she was giving him such a sweet, innocent look that he decided it just wasn’t worth it. They headed across the street to the nearest building; a white-painted two-story building with white trim and a long porch. A black sign identified it as “Scotty’s Café.”

“Let me guess. Scotty,” Dean said.

The man looked up at him with a lazy expression. “Yep.”

Normally Dean didn’t think very long about which name he was going to use; he knew so many that it usually only took a few seconds to choose one. “I’m John Bonham.”

Which Scotty identified, stunning him for a moment. Usually the people let the names just slide by, not noticing or not knowing them. Which apparently did not include Scotty.

“Wow, classic rock fan,” Dean said, trying to cover his surprise.

“Who’s your friend?”

Jayme slid her arm into Dean’s, smiling as innocently as a college freshman. “Jayme. Jayme Entwistle.”

“The bass player for the Who.”

She smiled up at Dean, ignoring the warning glare in his eyes. “That’s how we met.”

“So what can I do for you, John and Jayme?”

Dean pulled out the Missing Person flyers and showed them to Scotty; Jayme drifted off, peering into the windows of the café while the owner denied all knowledge of the couple.

“‘John Bonham’?” Jayme asked once they were out of Scotty’s earshot. “Oh, _that’s_ subtle.”

“And you using Entwistle isn’t?”

“That happens to _be_ my name.”

“He—what?”

“Long story but yeah, John kind of adopted me into his house, you could say.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t know that!”

She glanced over her shoulder, unconcerned. “Well, I’ll think of some different ones, then. So, where to next, Bonzo?”

“Well, I get the feeling that guy wasn’t being honest with me.”

“You do.”

He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “Didn’t you? Guy handed that flyer back a little too quick.”

“I didn’t see that. Too busy smelling him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even the best human liars can’t control biology. Your pupils dilate, you breathe faster, you sweat more . . . most other humans can’t pick that up, but I can.”

“Jayme, he hardly cracked a smile.”

“Doesn’t matter. He started breathing faster as soon as you handed him that flyer.”

“Okay, I believe you.” He frowned, looking around. “Well, now we ask around. Stick close—lemme know if anyone else has the stink of guilt on ‘em.”


	5. Chapter 5

In addition to looking like Mayberry, Burkittsville had an actual honest-to-goodness general store, the kind where you came in with a list of things you needed and the folks who ran it actually fetched them for you. The store was owned by an older couple, who greeted Dean and Jayme with the kind of warmth that made him suspicious. He showed them the picture of the missing couple, watching as they gave a similar reaction to Scotty—not as quickly dismissive, but still in the negative.

Dean glanced at Jayme, who briefly raised an eyebrow in a knowing way.

A younger woman who worked there as well gave a different answer, apparently sparking the man’s memory that they had stopped there for gas and had been on their way about ten minutes later. He directed Dean toward the interstate, in the direction which he had shown them.

“They’re all lying, except the girl,” Jayme said once they were in the car. “When she said she remembered them I heard that dude take in a sharp breath. He was scrambling for answers after that.”

“Yeah, something is definitely up,” Dean said. “You smell anything else off ‘em?” He had to admit that even saying the words felt weird.

“Nope. Just lies and lies.”

“We gotta figure out what they’re lying ab—” He stopped, looking over his shoulder. “What the hell is that?”

Jayme turned, leaning over the back seat. “Something in your bag,” she said, digging around for the source of the high-pitched squeal. She pulled out the EMF meter. “It’s this thing, whatever it is.”

Dean pulled the car over, taking the meter from Jayme. “Something’s hot around here.”

Jayme looked out the window. “It’s an orchard. What’s so special about that?”

“Good question.”

“Just what is that thing, anyway?”

Dean held it up. “This is an EMF meter. It measures electromagnetic frequencies. Usually lets us know if there’s something . . . well, something we look for.”

She held it, looking at the readout lights on the top. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it.”

She looked at him. “You did?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Wait, you built this yourself? From scratch?”

“Why, is that a surprise?”

“Well, kind of, yeah, but only because you’re not exactly the computer engineering type. But this is nice work.” She turned it over in her hands.

Dean tilted his head to the side, grinning despite himself. “High praise, right?”

“Well, if it helps the ego stroke, most of my people wouldn’t think you’d be capable of building something like this.” She handed it back to him. “You’re more than meets the eye, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Transformer,” he said, getting out. There wasn’t anything special about the orchard from first glance; true, it looked a little spooky with the mist hanging in the air, but that was just perception. Jayme followed, looking from right to left, moving as if expecting an ambush. No comments, no smartass remarks, nothing. It was like watching a big cat on the prowl.

He moved further into the orchard, keeping an eye on Jayme as he looked around. So far there was nothing to explain the meter’s reaction, nothing out of the ordinary; apple trees, a few abandoned baskets, a few ladders here and there, and—

He stopped. “Is that a scarecrow?”

Jayme followed his gaze. “Yeah. Not exactly Wizard of Oz, is it?”

“Not really.” Dean went closer, looking up at it. Unlike the one who longed for a brain, this one was clad in black rags, with a face made of patchwork that looked too much like skin for comfort. “Dude, you fugly.” His eyes moved down its right arm to the sickle in its hand, then back up to a design just barely visible on its arm. Unable to see it more clearly, he took the ladder from behind him, setting it down near the scarecrow. He was halfway up when he realized Jayme was nowhere to be seen.

“Jay—” He gasped, grabbing the ladder’s rungs as something huge reared up next to him. It took a moment to recognize Jayme in her four-legged form, which gave her a height of twelve feet or so as she balanced on her hind legs, her long tail resting on the ground and giving her a little extra stability.

“Warn a guy before you do that, huh?”

She glanced at him, her muzzle parting just enough to show her teeth. “Sorry. Easier to get a scent this way.”

“Aren’t you kinda . . . exposed right now?” he asked, climbing the rest of the way up.

“There’s no one around and I’ll hear or smell someone long before they have a chance to see me.”

Dean shrugged. “Okay with me. What can you tell about him?”

She leaned in, her sleek nostrils opening wider as she sniffed. “I’m getting multiple scents, and none of them match his clothes. Right along his arm here is the freshest, and I’m betting this tattoo is not his.”

“Tattoo?” Dean leaned in for a closer look. “Son of a bitch.” He pulled the missing persons flyer from his pocket and unfolded it. Jayme leaned her head back, peering over the edge. “Think it’s the same tat?”

“Well, without having scented the original human, I can’t say. But I can say that this bit of skin right here does not belong to this scarecrow.”

 

 

“How can you talk?”

Jayme took her eyes off the road and looked at Dean, one eyebrow lifting. “Excuse me?”

“When you’re, you know, in that other form. Your voice is deeper but you can still speak, even without . . . lips.”

She smiled in a way that reminded him of her mother—warmth mixed with amusement. “We can still speak in our other forms, just not in human languages. There’s a tiny implant right on my vocal cords that shifts as I do and when I’m in my beast form, it takes the sounds I make and translates them into speech you can understand.”

“So it . . . it takes sounds and—”

“Don’t strain your brain, hon. It’s pretty complicated and even I don’t completely understand it.”

“But it’s inside you.”

“Yeah, so?”

He shook his head. “Got somethin’ inside you and you don’t even know how it works.”

“Maybe, but I trust that the people who built it knew what they were doing, and in fifty-odd years it hasn’t given me a day of trouble so why don’t we drop it before this becomes an argument?”

“Fine,” Dean said.

“So where are we going now?”

“Back to town. Get some answers.”

“And you intend to do this how, given that they weren’t forthcoming before?”

“You just sit back and watch the master at work.”

 

 

They ended up back at the general store, which also sported a gas pump outside. Dean got out, ordering Jayme to stay inside firmly enough to put a pout on her face. She maintained the grumpy frown as he chit-chatted with Emily, the only honest one in the bunch. Tilting her head, she listened as Dean asked the kind of innocuous, shooting-the-shit questions that one did while waiting for a gas tank to be filled, questions that edged towards his real purpose with a natural casualness. He was disarming, able to make his macho tough-guy exterior melt into an aw-shucks vulnerability within moments, the kind that could draw answers from people too foolish to realize they’d said too much until it was too late.

“Looks like the townfolk are at it again,” Dean said when he got back in the car. 

“I heard. Couple in town with car trouble. How convenient.”

Dean looked at her sharply; she sounded too casual, too calm, but the look in her eyes belied all of that—she was was staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed forward. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just . . . trying to fit it together. Couples disappear, we have a scarecrow with a tattoo, a town that’s flourishing while others are going broke—what’s the connection?” She snapped out of it, looking at Dean. “What? You brought me into this mystery so I’m trying to figure it out.”

Dean pursed his lips, glancing around. “I got an idea. Let’s grab a bite to eat; I always think better while I’m eating.”

“Brain’s in your stomach, huh?” she said.

“You got a better place for it to be?”

The diner was quaint, combining the Americana of Norman Rockwell with notions of God, Grandma, and Apple Pie. Small tables covered with red-and-white checked tablecloths, fresh rolls in baskets lined with cloth napkins, the works.

“The fifties weren’t even this fifty,” Jayme muttered as she and Dean sat at a table next to the café’s only other patrons; a young couple.

“It’s the nostalgia trip. Brings in the tourists,” Dean murmured.

Jayme sat back as Dean struck up a conversation with the couple; out of the corner of her eye she saw Scotty approach. He looked none too pleased with their presence, but Dean either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he pressed on, drawing information out of the couple with the same ease as he’d done with Emily, leaving her to watch and wait for his lead. It was growing more and more clear what was going on, but how was Dean going to warn them without sounding like a complete nut?

Despite having fully human ears that remained stationary, her hearing was still sharp, sharp enough to pick up some sounds from a back room, what sounded like a hushed conversation. Dean was intent on talking the couple into letting him fix their car, but as he looked none too trustworthy compared with Ma and Pa Kettle over at the general store/filling station, she couldn’t quite blame them for turning him down.

“Honey,” she said, interrupting Dean. “I think you should back off, okay?”

Dean’s smile was nearly a snarl. “Darling, what did I tell you about interrupting me?”

“Yes, _sweetheart_ , but there’s something I really need to tell you,” she said, widening her eyes for emphasis. Before she could elaborate the door opened and a man in a sheriff’s uniform entered, greeted in turn by Scotty.

“Heard him calling someone,” Jayme whispered. “What I was _trying_ to tell you.”

Dean just glared at her.


	6. Chapter 6

“So that’s it? We’re just leaving?”

Dean watched in the mirror as the sheriff turned around, driving back towards town. “Course not. Just gotta lay low until sundown, now that we know what their plan is.”

“We do? Mind clueing me in? I was still back on the townfolk being a little too nice to couples.”

Dean kept the car heading down the road just in case the sheriff had a deputy posted further down to make sure they left. “That scarecrow. Not sure what it is yet, but these couples are part of it. You heard that girl—all the towns around here are goin’ belly up but they’re doing fine?”

“So you think they’re deliberately sending these couples that blunder into their town to that orchard to be killed?”

“Willing to bet my next paycheck on it.”

“I thought you guys don’t get paid.”

“Figure of speech.”

She nodded, staring at the road. “Okay. So what do we do about it?”

“‘We’?”

“If you think I’m letting you have all the fun you’re crazy.”

“What is it with you all this ‘fun’ stuff? This isn’t fun!”

She held up her hands. “All right, all right! How about ‘exciting’? Is that okay to say?”

“Same difference.” Once he was sure they were beyond the sheriff’s radar he pulled off the road and down a path that clearly hadn’t been used in a while, parking behind a dense cover of trees. “Jayme, this isn’t some kind of kick, okay? It’s serious business, and if you’re gonna treat it like it’s some kind of party you’re getting off here.”

She just stared at him. “If that’s how you feel, then why do you do it?”

“I told you already. Family business. It’s important.”

“And that means you can’t ever have any positive emotions about it, ever.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I get the point. People’s lives are in danger and you shouldn’t be laughing about it. And I’m not. Terribly sorry about not being depressed that I found something I might just be good at.” She got out, zipping her jacket up a little more around her neck in the chill breeze.

Dean closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat and wishing more than ever for Sam to be back. Even Sam’s worst griping and complaining was better than this. But like it or not Sam was off on his own and despite anything he might have said he was not quite ready to put Jayme out on the side of the road.

Yet.

He got out, going over to the trunk. “Jayme.”

“What?”

“Unbunch your panties and get over here.” He waited until she’d come around the back, ignoring her glare and crossed arms. He opened the trunk.

“Wow. A car trunk. Thanks for sharing, Dean.”

He glared at her. “Real funny, smartass.” Reaching in, he lifted the false bottom, propping it up with one of the sawed-offs. “You wanna hunt? This is what it’s about.”

“Didn’t figure you guys went around holding ghosts off with the power of prayer,” she said, making no move to touch anything. “Nice spread.”

“You said before you’re not the greatest shot, which means you have fired a gun before,” he said. “How many times and what kind?”

She looked sheepish. “Uh, a Thompson submachine gun once?”

He blinked. “A Tommy gun? Are you serious? When was this?”

“1978 at John’s house. They were filming The Kids Are Alright. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with it.”

Dean shook his head. He was familiar with the scene in the film, where John Entwistle skeet shot with several gold records. But if she couldn’t hit a barn door with an automatic machine gun . . . “Okay, is there any weapon in here you can handle right now where you’re not more likely to get _me_ killed?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes and no.” Going to the back door, she leaned into the back seat, pulling something out of the bottom of her long duffel. Returning to his side, she held it out.

It reminded him of a Japanese wakizashi; slender, curved, with no hilt. He took it, surprised by the weight. “What is it?” he asked, fully expecting a sarcastic reply since it was perfectly clear what it was.

“This is a _nahya_. It’s largely a ceremonial weapon, and one of the only kind we’re allowed to have on the planet. Any advanced weapons are strictly prohibited.”

“No space guns, huh?” He pulled the blade. It was single-edged, and a gentle touch told him how sharp it was. “How good are you with this?” he asked, handing it back.

“Do you need a haircut?”

“Funny.”

She bent down, picking up a branch. Shaking the leaves and dirt from it, she tossed it into the air. Dean watched it come down, getting to within six feet of the ground before it was sliced first once, then again, landing in three pieces. He’d barely seen her move. “That’s . . . not . . . bad.”

She slid the blade back into its scabbard. “Its molecular structure is four times denser than steel.”

“Meaning what?”

From Sam he’d have gotten an eyeroll or a sigh at the prospect of once again having to explain something to his GED-level brother. Jayme just paused, frowning at the ground, the frown disappearing when she looked up. “Its molecules, the things that make up matter, are packed together more tightly because the metal is from my home planet, where the gravity is much higher. So when it comes up against matter on this planet, it has more mass, so it can cut through much faster and harder. To the _nahya_ , cutting through that wood is as easy as a steel knife cutting through a loaf of bread.”

Dean nodded. “Handy thing to have around, then.”

“Now, the question is will this,” she said, holding up the blade, “have an effect on our patchwork friend in that orchard? I mean, how do you even tell?”

“That’s why we investigate, do research—which I usually leave to Sam because he lives for it. The things we hunt have patterns they stick to, and everything has a vulnerability.”

She nodded, focused on his words. “So what’s this creature’s vulnerability?”

“Don’t know and there’s no time to head to the library. So, we fall back on the standard weapons and hope one works well enough to give those folks a chance to get clear.”

“Then what?”

“Then we haul ass. Figure out how to shut this thing down permanent.”

She twirled her sheathed weapon until it rested against her forearm. “Evacuate and regroup. Sounds like a plan.”

“Keep forgetting you have military training,” he said, loading his shotgun. “You said two years. That doesn’t sound like much.”

“Our military is a little different. Most of what I know about tactics and fighting I learned before then.”

Dean checked his gun. “Keep forgetting you’re not human.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I like you too.”

 

 

As soon as the sun disappeared behind the trees they headed back towards Burkittsville, taking back roads around the town to avoid law enforcement. Jayme was silent, watching the road with no outward signs of apprehension, fear, or excitement.

“Son of a bitch, look at that. Right on time,” Dean said, pulling over. About twenty yards away was the most recent couple’s disabled car. “Lambs to the slaughter.”

Jayme paused, holding her blade in one hand. “You’re talking about a sacrifice.”

“Yeah. I am.” He got out, hefting his gun.

“To what?” she asked, following him. “Sacrificial rites are god-type territory, aren’t they?”

“Not always, but most of the time, yeah.” He headed for the orchard.

“Wait!” she hissed, running to catch up. “A god? How are you going to stop a god with a shotgun filled with rock salt and one Katarinian _nahya_?”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain every damn thing to you! We get in, get those two out, and get ourselves out! End of story!”

She glared. “At _least_ let me change forms.”

“I’d love that but the last thing we need is for those two to panic when they see a Wookiee running at them! Just stay like you are and follow my lead! Now come on!”

They headed into the mist, passing beyond sight of the Impala when they heard screams. Dean turned to Jayme, waving her on; she nodded, bringing her _nahya_ up to a ready position as she sprinted forward.

Dean turned, heading for the cries, gun at the ready. He couldn’t tell where the scarecrow was, it was dark and foggy and he had to try to keep track of Jayme too—this was going all wrong so fast.

He saw them running, dodging into one of the paths between the trees just as the couple reached him. He could see the scarecrow behind them, and for a moment they stared at his gun, clearly thinking themselves caught between two grisly forms of death.

“Down!” he ordered, waiting until they had ducked out of the way before firing. The shell found its mark but barely fazed the scarecrow, who continued lumbering towards them. “Run!” he barked, getting himself between the scarecrow and the couple, who needed no other incentive. He followed them, firing over his shoulder. “Jayme!” he shouted. “Where the hell are you!”

Something else at the edge of his vision streaked into view, a blade slicing out and deflecting the sweep of the scarecrow’s sickle. Staggered only slightly more than it had been by Dean’s bullets, the scarecrow turned, lashing out with its other arm. Jayme ducked, moving backwards as she brought her weapon to bear.

“Jayme, c’mon!” Dean barked.

“I can take it!” she said, her voice breathless with something he recognized all too well.

“No you can’t, now move it! Come on!”

She looked over her shoulder. “Get them to safety! I can hold it off!” She turned back, missing the next blow; a last-second twist sent the blade of the sickle skittering down her arm, tearing her jacket. Staggered, she was unable to avoid a hit from its other hand, one that knocked her down.

“Dammit!” Dean raged, lifting his gun and firing again, then again. Like before the bullets had little effect but it got the scarecrow’s attention back on him and away from Jayme, who was already on her feet and running towards him. They reached the Impala, Dean blocking the couple and turning, ready to empty his gun and then use it as a club if he had to.

The scarecrow was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Jayme leaned on the edge of the Impala, watching as Dean finished fixing the couple’s car (for real, this time). He hadn’t spoken to her since the danger had inexplicably vanished, and it didn’t require any of her heightened senses to tell that he was angry.

He finished, advising the couple to head straight out to the road and not to stop until they were in Illinois or Ohio, waiting until they were out of sight before he headed back to the car. 

His first glance showed that her clothing was torn and there was only one thing he wanted to know. “You hurt?”

“No. I managed to avoid the blade, barely.”

“Good.” He opened the door and got in the car, closing the door with more force than was necessary.

Gathering her dignity, she got into the car, closing the door much more quietly.

His jaw was working, but he wasn’t talking. He also wasn’t turning the car on. After a moment, he slammed his palm on the steering wheel and snarled, “What the _hell_ were you _doing_?”

She recoiled from him, curling in on herself as if she expected him to hit her.

His lips instantly slammed shut and he drew in a few deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her body still molded to the door, one hand gripping the handle.

“You almost got yourself killed out there!” Dean snapped. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“T-That thing was stronger than I thought. And you told me not to change so I didn’t.”

“I _told_ you to come _on_!”

“Yes, you did, and I didn’t listen.”

“You listen from now on!”

When the word “on” left his lips she flinched, shutting her eyes tight.

His voice softened a little. “Does this have anything to do with your nightmares?”

She lowered her head, her eyes still closed. “That is none of your business.”

His lips thinned in clear annoyance. “Fine. But I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I know that.”

Dean just stared at her for a long moment before he growled, “Okay. Fine,” before starting the engine.

 

 

Sam hadn’t been expecting Dean to call. Knowing Dean all his life meant he was intimately acquainted with Dean’s stubbornness and at times absolute intractability, so the thought of Dean coming to him hadn’t entered his mind until his phone rang in the middle of the night. He glanced at Meg, who was asleep and apparently hadn’t heard anything. He hadn’t counted on running into her either, especially after she’d left him on the side of the road, but it seemed this was his day for coincidences.

Dean had figured out that what they were hunting was a pagan god, based on its cycle of killings. Sam smiled a little, inwardly; he gave Dean crap about it, but the truth was his brother was smarter than he let on. Smart enough to be an incredibly effective hunter on his own.

And this time he wasn’t on his own.

“How’s she doing?”

“She who?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jayme.”

In the car, Dean glanced over. “She’s asleep,” he said. “We’re . . . fine.”

“Dean,” Sam said.

“What? She’s annoying and she didn’t listen last night but right now she’s all I have.”

“Dean, if you think she might put you in danger—”

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean sighed. “Look, her mom died trying to protect us. I’m not about to just toss her on her ass. Can you focus, please?”

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault,” Sam said.

“Never said it was.”

“I know you. Stop blaming yourself for everything.”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I’m heading to a local community college, since you’re not here and Jayme might be able to remote access any computer on this planet but she’s not quite up to our kind of research.”

“Dean, if you’re trying to say you need my help, just ask me.”

Dean glanced over at Jayme, who hadn’t moved. “Sam, you gotta go your own way. You always have, you know, the way you stand up to Dad. Don’t think either of us could say the same.”

Sam was stunned. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”

“Just take care of yourself,” Dean said. “And don’t worry about me—got a neromancer watching my back. Call when you find Dad.” 

 

 

Jayme listened to Dean’s conversation; thanks to hearing that suffered less than three percent loss due to her human-style ears, she could hear Sam’s side as well. Keeping her eyes closed and body limp, it was clear enough that Dean thought her fast asleep.

Anger at Delphinar flared once again. Why couldn’t Ahma have just _told_ her about them, explained why these two stubborn, uncommunicative, ruffian-looking boys had drawn her attention and care so strongly? The thought that Ahma cared for them more than she did her own daughter surfaced briefly and was pushed down with almost physical force.

Then Dean mentioned her mother, and she held her breath, listening intently. _He blames himself. He blames himself for what happened to Ahma, and I’m here because . . . he feels sorry for me._

Well, if that was the only reason, it was better than nothing. Dean was bossy, short-tempered, sarcastic . . . and cared very deeply about others, especially his brother. Perhaps that was what had attracted Ahma in the first place, and if the bottom line was that she was going along with them only to fulfill a promise, and Dean had only agreed because he felt an obligation, then she’d have to deal with it on those terms.

“Jayme.” Dean’s hand on her shoulder brought her out of her tangled mental wrestling match. She opened her eyes, feigning coming out of sleep. “Hmm?”

“We’re at the community college. I’m gonna go up and have a talk with the professor, okay? You just wait here.”

“Sure you don’t need me?”

“I think I can handle this on my own. I have been doing this for a while now without your help.”

The words stung. Whether it was because of the tension from the night before or her own unsettled mental state, his tone and words hit harder than they should have, and she fought a flinch. “Yes sir,” she said. “I’ll stay right here, and I promise not to touch anything.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping, as if he wanted to say something and was fighting an internal battle over it. “I know you won’t,” he said, getting out of the car.

She waited until he was out of earshot, the side of her mouth pulling up ever so slightly. “Apology accepted,” she whispered.

 

 

Waiting was a phenomenon experienced by any and every living creature everywhere in time and space. The methods of handling it varied from species to species, and observing another being’s way of dealing with waiting could tell you a great deal about the species or the individual.

No one who walked by the classic black Impala paid much attention to its passenger, who sat in a relaxed but alert position in the front seat, her large green eyes taking in her surroundings without rippling the calm pond of her composure. It was a different bearing than many of her human friends were used to, especially the ones who knew her as a party girl or badass rock and roller, drinking and carousing and getting into trouble all in the name of fun, but the truth was that even in the midst of chaos the calmness of the predator was always there in the background, ready to step forward if she started to get out of control.

But that life and that context was gone, and this one was much closer to her natural instincts, her sense of the hunt. How could she ever make Dean or Sam or any human understand how she felt when prey was in sight, when there was something to track down and kill and better yet for her—living on Earth where hunting was scarce and humans off-limits—to have creatures to hunt that were enemies, that hurt and killed humans, to turn the hunt to a protective, positive end?

When she’d finally learned what it was they actually did she’d had the same reaction she imagined most other humans had; disbelief, if not outright scorn. But Ahma had believed, so Jayme was willing to put her skepticism on hold at least for a little while.

Then the scarecrow. The first signs were enough to draw her into the mystery, to fully engage the part of her brain that lived for the hunt, and when it was clear that it was real, dangerous, and had attacked those humans . . . drugs paled in comparison to the rush.

“I should have just taken it down,” she said. “Why I let Dean boss me around like that I’ll never know but I’ll tell you right now, Jhamera, it is not going to happen again.”

As soon as the words left her lips the police arrived.


	8. Chapter 8

“Oh damn.” Jayme ducked down. She recognized the sheriff as the first car passed, and if he hadn’t noticed the Impala that he’d ordered from town the day before sitting at the curb, he would sooner or later. He parked right in front of the building Dean had gone into, his deputy pulling up right behind. The sheriff got out, a rifle in his hands, and went in.

Jayme pulled out her phone to call Dean and warn him, then realized with a terrible shudder that she hadn’t thought to get his number, or Sam’s. She could scan for his life signs and once his position was triangulated there were a few of her people who would be able to isolate his cell phone signal, but that would take too long. She could get out and try to find another entrance to the building, try to find Dean before the sheriff did, but he had a head start. “Dammit dammit dammit!” she said, feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed.

The door opened and the sheriff emerged, holding a limp form by the arm. His deputy, who had gone in a few minutes after, held the form’s other arm. From the boots, jeans, and dark jacket she could tell it was Dean without having to see his face. From the way his head lolled and his feet thumped down the steps and dragged on the path, she could tell he was unconscious. His hands were cuffed behind his back as the officers opened the back of the squad car and shoved him in, but not before the first dug into Dean’s pocket and took out his car keys.

“Great,” Jayme muttered, ducking down again. Considering the distance to the Impala and the officer’s deliberately casual pace, she had less than a minute. Not knowing exactly why, she grabbed the robes that had belonged to Delphinar and quickly tossed them over her shoulders, stripping her clothes off. The air was cold enough to be unpleasant but the layered robes were warm. She tossed her jeans, boots, shirt, and jacket into the back floorboard and closed the door as quietly as she could, peeking over the sill enough to see the officer heading her way. Ignoring the chill of the pavement through the soles of her bare feet, she ducked down and scurried away, hiding behind another parked car as the officer reached the Impala. He bent down, looking first in the front, then the back seat. He straightened, touching the radio attached near his shoulder. “No sign of the girl, sheriff.”

“She has to be there. Look around,” came the response.

Jayme held still, watching him. “So you wanna play hide and seek, huh?” She waited until he turned, then crawled to the other side of the car and around behind the one parked directly behind, then back and around it, keeping going in between peeking up or around to see if the deputy had spotted her.

After sneaking back and around half a dozen cars she lunged behind a large transformer box, waiting while the deputy stood in the middle of the street, looking. “I don’t see her,” he reported into his radio. “She might have run off—no way to tell which way she went.”

“All right. You take his car; we’ll come back for yours later. We need to get back to town.”

“Ten four.” With a final look the deputy went back to the Impala and got behind the wheel. She waited until it and the sheriff’s squad car had pulled away.

“It’s daylight, and you’re out here in the cold without any clothes on,” Jayme muttered to herself. “You must be out your mind.”

Glancing back and forth to make sure there were no eyes on her, she ducked into the woods, her bare skin yielding to fur as she charged forward, the robes separating and rolling up into a neat bundle around her neck. She raced after the cars, keeping off the road and to the woods, her nose held high and always seeking the scent of the Impala’s exhaust, which was thankfully distinct from almost all the other cars on the road.

It was clear where they were headed, and thankfully she had paid attention to where they were in relation to Burkittsville. She kept pace with the cars as long as she was able, finally having to stop within a dense stand of trees to catch her breath. The air, much colder than what she’d been used to on Katarin—and had tried to avoid as much as possible while on Earth—seared her lungs with each breath, making her sound more like an asthmatic moose than a highly-developed predator.

Despite the advantage of four legs, neromancers were not built for long distance running at speed; they were feline in more ways than one, built for stalking, pouncing, and quick pursuits. Even so, Jayme inwardly cursed her lack of distance training. “So help me, if this gets Dean killed . . . ” She got up, peeking out to make sure no one was looking, then headed out, getting barely half a mile before she had to change back to avoid being seen by a passing truck. Crossing the road on foot, she made it another quarter mile before coming within sight of several residences.

“This is gonna take me forever,” she muttered, wincing as the rough asphalt and gravel, carrying a biting cold, promised bruises and blisters to come.

 

 

“It’s the last night of the cycle. We don’t have any more chances after this.”

“You were supposed to get them both. What happened to that girl who was with him?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t in the car; no sign of her anywhere.”

Nestled down nearby where three dense bushes met, Jayme peered out from under her hood. “And you’re not gonna find one either, asshole,” she murmured to herself. Thanks to the rain that had whipped up when she was still more than a mile out of town, she was soaked through, shivering in the cold, her feet so numb that she couldn’t feel if any of her blisters had popped. On four legs she’d have made it to town much sooner, but when the she’d reached the town limits she’d found too many human eyes around to be able to slip by. Part of her had wondered whether her beast form would truly have been more strange than a naked humanoid dressed like something out of Harry Potter.

She’d finally tracked down the sheriff, hiding wherever she could find cover until he left to meet the others, stalking up as close as she dared and finding enough cover to listen in. It was pretty clear what they were planning, but she couldn’t leave anything to chance. These were clearly humans who had no problem with killing.

They spoke of Dean as “the boy,” which filled her with a strange combination of irritation and anger. Then they mentioned a “her” before departing, leaving Jayme puzzled. ‘Her’ who? They were going after couples—which explained why they’d been looking for her. _Who are they talking about? It’s not me, so who?_ Frustrated, she growled, watching her breath steaming into the damp, cold air. Whoever it was would have to wait. First things first. Find Dean.

“And I have a pretty good idea where he might be.”

 

 

When Dean awoke, his face throbbing like Moby Dick was playing in his head, he’d immediately called for Sam, sitting and listening to silence before remembering that his brother was on his way to California. Then he’d called for Jayme, hoping she was there and would be willing to use one of those giant paws to punch through a wall. But she wasn’t there either.

_Great. One more thing to worry about._

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, enough for him to make out the confines of his prison, and a few more to discover that the only way out was also the only source of light—a slanted wooden door that did not yield to his fists or his shoulder. Now he really wished Jayme were there; secret or not one moderate blow from her shoulder could take the door out.

_Or Sammy. He and I could take this damn thing, easy._

He tried not to think about Sam.

A shadow passed over the slats and he squinted, waiting to see who it was. “Hello?” he said gamely.

“Dean?”

“Jayme? Son of a bitch, how did you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy, lemme tell you. I am all wet and dirty and I can’t feel anything lower than my ankles!”

“Just get me out of here!” He stood back, waiting—even though he knew it was nuts—for a big hairy fist to come smashing through. “Jayme? What’s the hold up? Come on!”

“Got a problem, Dean. It’s locked.” He heard a rattle. “Padlock.”

“Well just rip it off! You can do that, right?”

“Not like this I can’t!”

“Well then change!”

There was a long silence from the other side. “I can’t. Too many people around and it’s broad daylight. I’ll stick out like a giant hairy red thumb.”

“Jayme, you gotta get me outta here, hear me? I don’t give a crap how you do it—find something to pry this damn door open! I don’t have time for this!” Again the silence, this time lingering for so long that he wondered if she’d run off. She hadn’t; he could just make out her silhouette through the slats. “Jayme?”

“Hush!” she hissed. “They’re coming! I gotta hide!”

“No! Jayme, dammit; I thought you said you’d listen to me!”

She drew closer. “I know, and I’m sorry. But right now it’s better that I stay loose. I won’t go far; I’ll be watching you.” He heard the flutter of cloth as she turned and fled.

He wasn’t alone for long; when the door opened he could see the couple who ran the general store holding their niece, who they put into the cellar with them as if she were as much a stranger as he was, her pleas and tears going unheeded.

 _So that’s it. Jayme got away, so they’re going to kill their own family instead._ The coldness and impersonality of it made his stomach squirm. What kind of monsters were these people?

 

 

When they had put their own niece into the cellar with Dean, Jayme paused, wondering if she’d done the right thing. They’d clearly intended to sacrifice her rather than their own family, and the cold bloodedness of it made her shiver with more than just a physical chill. Much better for them to have taken her, to bide her time, play the role of helpless female, then turn the tables later on. But it was too late for that now. Her choices swam before her as she huddled in the bushes, keeping a wary eye and ear open for any intruders. Each one seemed equally good and equally capable of making things so much worse.

She could free them, hopefully with enough time to hide before their absence was discovered, but being hunted by an entire town was not exactly enticing. There was no way to tell when the sheriff and the others would return, and contrary to what her human companions over the years might have believed, she was not invulnerable to bullets, and the thought of hot metal punching holes in her flesh filled her with a sick dread.

She could wait, assuming they’d be taken to the orchard, and take the chance that she was right. But that left the possibility that they were not going there, and with so many people around, she wouldn’t be able to follow them at speed on four legs.

Burrowing down further into the robes that being soaked through gave very little in the way of warmth, she hugged her bare knees. No phone, no weapons save the ones nature had given her, no way to reach any of her people for help—she was on her own, without even her unofficial and impromptu commander to tell her what to do. Her inexperience loomed in front of her, making her earlier words seem very small indeed.

“Well, Jayme, you sure screwed the pooch on this one,” she muttered. But despite the numbness in her extremities and the indecision spinning her head, one thing was clear; leaving Dean was not an option. She would not allow him to face that scarecrow alone.

_If only Sam were here._


	9. Chapter 9

He felt sorry for her. The poor kid clearly had no idea what was going on and being locked up by her own family had rattled her nearly to pieces. But at the moment she was all he had. He stood by the door, trying to figure out some way to open it, but Jayme had been right—it was padlocked from the outside.

“They’re going to kill us?”

“More like sacrifice. Which is supposed to sound better, I guess.” He backed away from the door. “You didn’t have any idea about this, did you?”

“What, about a scarecrow god, or whatever you said it is?”

“Yeah. Right now you’re the only one here and I need your help.”

“What about that girl who was with you? Where is she?”

“She’s not here, which means she’s not doing either of us any good. I need to find the tree.”

“Tree?”

“It would be old. Folks here might treat it with a lot of respect, you know, like a sacred object.”

Emily thought for a minute. “There is one tree—an apple tree the immigrant founders brought with them. The First Tree. It’s in the orchard.”

Dean nodded grimly. It was there, the scarecrow was there, and that’s where they’d be taken, he was willing to bet. Hopefully Jayme knew enough to be there too. This time, if she wanted to change into Chewbacca and tear off some heads, he wasn’t going to stop her.

 

 

“You need a good long vacation on Solanis when this is over,” Jayme muttered to herself. She was still huddled in the center of a dense collection of bushes, the blackness of her robes keeping her invisible. Covered in dirt up to her shins, her entire form wet and shivering, she looked more like a ragged stray.

After putting the girl in the basement the sheriff and townspeople had gone, apparently confident that their prisoners could not escape. It didn’t smell right; Jayme had never taken great stock in the notion of smelling whether a situation was dangerous or not, but the sensation of Not Right superseded her cold and discomfort, keeping her stationary even though the door was in plain sight. Finally emotion overrode instinct and she darted out, barely touching the sidewalk before a passing police car drove her back to her hiding place. It looped by over and over, the intervals between its passes just short enough to keep her from attempting a rescue.

Near dark the sheriff and the others returned, the men armed with rifles. They opened the cellar, motioning Dean and Emily out. They were handcuffed and led over to the police car; Jayme moved to a forward crouch, ready to launch herself forward in case anything happened, but Emily looked too stunned to put up a fight and Dean seemed to have decided to cooperate for the time being.

They pulled away, another car following the sheriff, Jayme waiting until they were out of sight before she emerged. She drew some odd looks as she hobbled down the street, her numb feet taking a few minutes to work up enough circulation to cooperate. Once beyond the reach of the town limits she changed, suppressing the ache from stiff joints and blistered flesh as her cells once again underwent the rapid mutation that was a primary aspect of her species, the cold receding as fur sprang out over her body. She moved to four legs, the encroaching darkness and her autumn-matching coat making her nearly invisible, and ran, keeping the road in sight at all times just in case they made any detours.

Several miles from the orchard she stopped, changing back and going to the side of the road to make sure she didn’t miss the turn. Near the intersection she paused, the glow of headlights appearing down the road. She hesitated, torn between running and hiding and continuing on her way, hoping that she wouldn’t be seen as strange enough to stop for.

Soon enough the decision was made for her; the car, a light blue nondescript sedan, came over the rise and slowed when the headlights focused on her. She held still, watching warily and ready to show the driver she was definitely not a damsel in distress.

The driver’s side window rolled down and a familiar face peered out. “Jayme?”

“Sam? Son of a bitch am I happy to see you!”

Sam watched her run around the front of the car and jump into the passenger seat. “You’ve been spending too much time around Dean.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been talking this way since before he was born.”

“Where is he?”

“That’s a long story and I know where he is, but you’re going the wrong direction. We need to head back that way, and there’s a turnoff to your left. You were right—it is a sacrifice and right now he’s on the menu.”

“Okay, just let me—wait, _I_ was right?”

“Yeah, when you were talking to Dean on the phone, I was pretending to be asleep. Heard every word.”

“You could hear me talking on the other end.”

She nodded. “I also heard Scotty talking in the back room when he called the sheriff.”

“So what’s the plan?”

She looked at him. “What?”

“You said you know where he is. What’s your plan?”

“I . . . I don’t have one. Since Dean got caught I’ve been making this up as I go and keeping one step ahead of panic. Right now I’d really just like to attack something.”

“It’s okay, Jayme. Calm down. I know this is all new to you but right now you know more about this situation than I do, and there’s no time for you to give me the complete story.” Checking his mirrors, Sam put the car in drive and did a u-turn, heading back the way he’d come.

“Okay, then the cliff’s notes,” Jayme said. “The town sacrifices couples to the scarecrow in the orchard so that they thrive while others go belly up. Dean was at the college when that asshole sheriff showed up, so I don’t know if he found out just what we’re up against or not. But they caught him and tossed their niece in with him, so they’re the last couple. Apparently tonight is the last night of this cycle, or whatever.”

Sam nodded grimly, keeping focused on the road. “How big is this scarecrow?”

“Big and mean. I’ll have to change forms to take him—and this time I’m going to do it whether Dean likes it or not.”

“Is that what happened last night?”

“Yeah. I didn’t listen to him, and he ended up being right. I could have gotten killed. But right now he’s not here to give the orders.”

“Just . . . be careful. These things are sometimes a lot stronger than they look.”

Jayme pointed to the turnoff. “It’s right down there. And that’s okay, Sam. So am I.”

 

 

Dean winced as the rope around his right wrist was yanked tight. It made sense for them to trade metal cuffs for rope, something the scarecrow could slice through when he took them. He couldn’t see Emily, but he could hear her pleading with her aunt and uncle; the conversation filled him with righteous anger, the kind that he tended to feed, since sometimes anger could keep you alive.

He kept his rage focused on the sheriff; he and Sam and Dad hunted monsters, things that killed people, but what they hunted wasn’t human. This supposed lawman helped cause the deaths of innocent people, which he was apparently only too happy to then cover up. In Dean’s mind that made him even worse than the monsters.

On the trip to the orchard he’d tried to keep an eye on the passing scenery despite the darkness, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of something that looked like a cross between a bear and a lion chasing them through the woods.

It was no use. Jayme was gone. In a way he didn’t blame her, considering her reaction the night before, the way she’d pulled back from him as if she expected him to start beating her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d taken his car and just hightailed it.

“I hope your apple pie is freakin’ worth it!” he shouted after them.

“Do you have a plan?” Emily asked. From the sound of her voice she was nearby.

“Working on it.”

 

 

“So what’s the plan?” Sam asked again once they had arrived.

“Get to Dean, get him loose, then see if he has a plan.”

“Loose?”

She shrugged. “Stands to reason they’d tie them down so they can’t run, since they’re both aware of why they’re here.”

“What if they’re being guarded?”

“Give me a few seconds head start. I’ll scope it out and let you know if there are guns involved.”

Sam nodded. “How?”

“If you hear me roar, it means stay clear. If you don’t hear anything, get to Dean as fast as you can.”

Sam got out, watching as Jayme emerged, changing almost immediately until he had to tilt his head back to look her in the eye. She merged again to four legs, her dark fur blending into the shadows to make her almost invisible. “Good luck,” he said.

“You too,” she replied, bounding off into the darkness with barely a sound.

 

 

Emily wasn’t talking. In his current frame of mind that was a blessing; the last thing he needed right now was for her to panic and start talking his ear off—or worse, screaming. He was a little too close to panic right now himself, and anything that pushed him nearer was not what he needed.

He had no idea how long they’d been sitting there, but from the numbness in his hands and ass it was at least a couple hours. He’d worked at the knots until his fingers refused to cooperate, but they were still as tight as they were at the start.

Finally she spoke. “So do you think she’s gone?”

“What? Gone who?”

“Your friend.”

“I wouldn’t count on her.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Still working on it,” he said. “Is he moving?”

“Who?”

“The scarecrow. Can you see him?”

“No.” He heard her pause, then take in a sharp breath, a moment before he heard movement behind them. _No, son of a bitch not now!_ He struggled, hoping a quick burst of energy would loosen them enough for him to get free. The fact that he had no weapons was a bridge he’d have to cross when he got there.

 _If_ he got there.

Then a voice. The last one he’d expected to hear but the one he wanted to hear most. “Dean?”

“Sam? I take back everything I said! Everything! I am so damn glad to see you! Listen, Jayme ran off.”

Sam drew back. “No she didn’t. She’s the one who led me here.”

“She—huh?”

“She was heading for here when I caught up to her. She was tracking you here all the way from town.”

“Then where is she now?”

Sam looked around. “I don’t know. She’s out there somewhere.”

Dean tugged at his still-bound hands. “Nevermind that. Get me outta these. How’d you get here? I doubt you ran the whole way.”

Sam’s expression was downright sheepish. “I stole a car.”

Dean felt a sudden, irrational burst of joy. He had clearly taught his baby brother well. “That’s my boy!” He stood, shaking the numbness from his hands. “Keep an eye on that scarecrow, Sam.”

Sam looked around, seeing nothing. “What scarecrow?”

Dean’s expression changed. “We gotta get outta here. Right now.” He came over, taking Emily’s arm. “Come on, Sam.”

“What about Jayme?”

“What about her?”

Sam drew back. “We can’t just leave her here!”

“Sam—”

“No, Dean—”

“ _Hey_! Right now we need to get as far away from here as possible, okay? She can take care of herself! We’ll come back in the morning and burn that damn tree and that’ll be the end of it, now come on!”

Trying to watch for Jayme, Sam brought up the rear as they ran, heading back towards the road. Just as they breached a clearing, they found themselves blocked by several of the townspeople, a few of them armed. 

Sam moved in front of Dean and Emily, while Dean did his best to shield her other side. They were trapped.

As far as Dean could tell, the scarecrow worked silently. Silence that was shattered by a roar and the soft thuds of paws meeting the leafy ground. Sam stepped back, pushing Dean and Emily back as Jayme swept in, her sleek form moving almost faster than the eye could follow. She slid to a halt in front of them, curling her body back around them.

“What is that?” Emily shrieked.

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “She’s on our side.” _I hope._

The guns pointed at them suddenly looked very puny; even combined they were hopelessly inadequate to stop the giant in front of them. She moved her head back and forth, her eyes glowing as they took the lights from their flashlights and reflected it.

“What the hell is that?” Harley asked, keeping his gun trained on them.

Dean felt his lips quirk. “You’ve got a scarecrow. We have a lion. Only not so cowardly.”

“Go ahead, shoot,” Jayme said, her voice recognizable but deeper, throatier, a cavernous sound resonating from a huge ribcage. “I dare you.”

Emily, seemingly convinced that Jayme was not about to eat her, spoke to her uncle. “Please let us go.”

Her uncle paused, still frozen in place by Jayme’s snarling form. “You have to let him take you. You have—” He arched, something curved stabbing through his abdomen. Emily and Stacy screamed; Jayme backed up, curling her body even tighter around them. Dean could feel her muscles tense, hear her breathing quicken, like a dog that had gotten a scent. She was straining—he could feel her desire to leap to the attack, but something was holding her in check.

He fought déjà vu as she pushed them back; the scarecrow grabbed Stacy in addition to Harley and dragged the couple off, satisfied with its prey. The others fled, whether from fear of the scarecrow or Jayme wasn’t clear. Once everything was still Jayme pushed off, racing into the woods, her long tail slicing the air as she vanished.

“What . . . what the hell was that?” Emily panted.

“Long story,” Dean said.

“Hey, did you see that thing!?” Jayme, back in human form, ran up to them from the opposite direction in which her beast form had run, looking breathless and excited. “What happened? What’d I miss?”


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, that is standard distraction technique, kiddo,” Jayme said, poking Sam in the side. They’d taken his stolen car back to town, keeping to the outskirts while Sam, who was the least known of the quartet, went for gasoline. Ditching the vehicle on a side street where it would be easily found, Sam and Jayme waited for Dean and Emily, who’d gone after the Impala.

“At least she didn’t ask any questions,” Sam said. “Think her family offering her up to a murderous scarecrow puts you further down on the list of things to worry about.”

“Probably. She didn’t get a very good look at me and from her reaction when I ran up like this she didn’t put two and two together, so I should be okay.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, you came running up like some kind of sorority sister on Pledge Night. You do that a little too well.”

“Do what?”

“Act completely unlike yourself.”

She stood as the Impala came rumbling down the road to pick them up, gathering what dignity she had left after nearly a day of running through rain and dirt. “Some people say it’s what I do best.”

 

 

The end came anticlimatically. Emily was only too willing to burn the tree down and doom the entire town, which surprised neither Sam nor Dean. Jayme stayed in the car, her enthusiasm clearly exhausted. Once the tree was toast, Dean was only too happy to help Emily get out of Dodge permanently.

Once she was safely away, it was time to deal with one last couple. 

“Anywhere I can take you, Sam?” he asked, trying to keep his tone mild. It ripped him apart to think about it, but he’d said it; he’d told Sam he had to go his own way and once he let the words out he couldn’t take them back.

But Sam wasn’t going. He was staying. He still wanted to find Dad, but hearing his brother say they should stick together made up for a whole hell of a lot, so much that Dean felt it fully appropriate and necessary to ruin the moment by asking Sam to hold him, just to fully bring things back to Winchester Normal.

They headed to the car, the realization that they weren’t alone seeming to hit them at once. Dean leaned down, peering into the back seat. Jayme was there, huddled in the dark robes that were still damp from the night before.

“Still think what we do is fun?” he asked.

She gave them two weary, dirty thumbs-up. “Party on.”

Dean shook his head, giving Sam a look. “Hopeless. She’s hopeless.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “You two seem to work pretty well together. Maybe I should take off more often.”

Dean headed around to the driver’s side. “In this case three ain’t a crowd, Sammy.” He got behind the wheeel, waiting for his brother. “Rather have you along. No offense, Jayme.”

“None taken. If you can take me somewhere to get cleaned up, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Dean’s hand stopped just as it touched the ignition. “What?”

“I broke our deal. Again. I didn’t bust you out of that cellar after you told me to, I left you alone out there in the woods—”

“You tracked me cross-country without getting caught yourself. You tracked us, found Sam, led him there, stuck close the whole time, and . . . oh yeah, you came blasting in at just the right time to keep us from getting shot. I don’t know, doesn’t sound like you broke our deal at all.”

“What deal?” Sam said, looking between them.

Jayme just smiled. “Just an agreement between friends.”

Dean put the car in gear. “I don’t know about you, but I am ready to put this place in my rearview mirror. Sam, find us a motel so Jayme and I can fight over who gets to shower first.”

 

 

It took a lot to startle Sam Winchester. A lifetime of hunting creatures and spirits, things that would have broken the sanity of lesser people, made him practically impervious to normal startle reactions, to the sort of things that made one stop dead in one’s tracks.

Seeing his brother painting a girl’s toenails was not one of them.

After a moment of open-mouthed staring he realized it wasn’t quite that; true, Jayme was wearing nothing but a towel, one leg up and resting on Dean’s knee, but as he got closer he could see that this was no pedicure. Dean was holding a long needle in one hand, the other grasping her foot as he carefully pierced the large blister on the ball, draining it.

“This can’t be the first time you’ve ever seen someone taking care of a blister,” she said, noticing Sam’s expression.

“No, it isn’t. It’s just . . . well, from the angle it looked like he was, you know.”

“Sam, do I look like a little Korean lady to you?” Dean said, wiping up the fluid and putting a sterile pad over the blister. “Hey, did you know she doesn’t have any claws here?”

“Shoes are not feasible if you have claws on your toes,” Jayme said. “Most civilized humanoid species wear them, so we made adjustments to this form to compensate.”

“But you still have them on your fingers,” Sam pointed out.

“And fangs and furry ears when we’re not on Earth. What’s your point?”

“I don’t know, just seems like why keep them on your fingers if you’re trying to blend in?”

“We don’t need to blend in like this everywhere,” she said, wincing as Dean lanced another blister.

“Makes sense,” Sam said, sitting down on the bed. “Can’t your little devices take care of that?”

“Their power cells aren’t infinite, and I can’t just plug them into the wall socket with an adapter. So for little things like this, your Earth medicine works just fine.”

“You know, if you’re going to work with us, we’re going to have to figure out clothes for you,” Dean said. “I mean, the Harry Potter look is fine and all, but it sticks out. And I am not going to keep doing this for you.”

“If we can stop somewhere long enough for me to pick up the mail, I can take care of that,” she said.

“How?”

“Put in a request for some specialized equipment. Complete transitional outerwear.”

Dean looked at Sam. “Did you understand any of that?”

“Not really, but I think she means more normal looking clothes that do that whole split-apart thing.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his brother finish taking care of her wounds. “So, your first job. How’d you like it?” Sam asked.

Jayme tilted her head, looking down at her knee. “Well, it was rough, and cold, and unnerving . . . and it put me totally out of my element and in over my head . . . but I think I could get to like it.”

“Like I said, Sam. She’s hopeless.”

Sam just shook his head, smiling.

“I do have one question,” Dean said, sitting back as Jayme unwrapped the towel from her head, combing her wet hair. “When that scarecrow showed up last night. You didn’t try to take him out. Why?”

“You said it yourself. The things you hunt can’t always be punched to death. So when I saw the guns pointed at you there wasn’t a really a choice.” She stood up, balancing carefully on her bandanged feet. “I’ll go get dressed. Thanks for your help.”

Dean waited until she was in the bathroom. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About her.”

“Dean, you should know—”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Sam. I don’t blame myself, okay?”

“That isn’t what I was going to say. Before you say anything else you need to know—”

“She’s got nowhere else to go, Sam. So for now—she’s with us.”

Sam leaned back, smirking. “Really. That isn’t how you sounded on the phone yesterday.”

Dean just shrugged. “Things change. She did an okay job.”

“So you’re sure? Is there enough room for three?”

“What the hell, Sam? Half the time I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But you saw her; that kind of musclepower could come in handy.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that.”

“You don’t tell her I said anything,” Dean said.

“I don’t have to. She probably heard every word we both said,” Sam replied, laughing openly at Dean’s expression.

“Quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jayme said as she emerged. She went over to Dean, kissing his cheek. “But you’re sweet anyway.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he cleared his throat. “I’m more than that, darlin’.”

“Careful now. You’re flirting with an alien,” she said, smirking. Sam lost control and laughed, keeling over on the bed.

Dean just shrugged. “First time for everything.”

 

 

Despite the exhausting events of the past two days, sleep didn’t come immediately. They talked little, letting the dark and quiet settle in, hopefully bringing sleep with it. Finally Jayme spoke.

“It was a piece of rotting meat with maggots on it.”

Dean pushed himself up on his elbow so he could see her. “What?”

“That’s how I won that gross-out contest.”

Sam’s face wrinkled. “You _ate_ it?”

“Yup. Apparently there are things even Ozzy won’t do.”

“And you _kissed me_ with that mouth?” Dean said. “Dude, I’m gonna have to shave with bleach tomorrow.”

Jayme giggled. “Always happy to be of service.”

“And you didn’t get sick?” Sam asked.

“Nope. It was kinda fun watching their faces turn inside out.”

Dean flopped onto his back. “Her and her strange idea of fun.”

“Damn straight,” Jayme and Sam said in unison.


End file.
